And It's Beginning To Snow!
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: Seven lunatics bohemians...a snowball fight in Central Park...tell me this isn't something you want to read! 2 chapters and that's it, rated T for language, thoguh it shouldn't be! Love to them all!
1. Good Shot, Pookie!

"I love it when it snows!" Maureen leapt into the air, her scarf twirling behind her like a party streamer. Mimi giggled as she watched Maureen tackle Collins from behind, nearly knocking him forward into the slowly growing snowdrifts scattered across the Park. She clutched Roger's arm tighter, laying her head against his shoulder as the snow swirled down around them.

"Roger, Mimi, smile!" Mark popped up in front of the couple, his camera in its normal place in front of his face. Roger rolled his eyes and swatted Mark's shoulder.

"Man, it's snowing, we're going to dinner, and my butt is freezing off. Get the camera out of my face and put it away, for god's sake!"

"Yeah, Marky, live a little!" chirped Angel, poking him from behind. Mark jumped and nearly dropped his camera. He scowled at Angel for a moment, but then looked back at the black box with a strange look on his face. Opening his old brown bag, he slid the camera inside, snapping the clasp shut on the flap of the bag.

"Go, Mark!" Mimi cheered, grinning at him. Angel pulled Mark away before he could insist that it was just because of the snow or something. Mimi kissed Roger's cheek and shivered happily as a snowflake landed on her nose.

"Baby, don't do that…" Joanne moaned as Maureen kicked the swiftly growing piles of snow into the air, showering them all with even more cold wetness. Joanne grabbed Maureen's waist from behind and restrained her from kicking another one. Maureen rolled her eyes, but squeezed Joanne's arm. It was cute. Very cute.

"Cold?" Collins asked Angel, slipping one hand around her waist. Angel, who probably had the warmest coat of all of them (that Santa coat was magic), pretended to shiver and pressed against Collins, snuggling into the folds of his leather coat.

"A little." Collins laughed and kissed her. Maureen made an "aaaww" noise, and Mimi giggled. She loved it when they were all together like this, just being, living, laughing…

_POW!_ Something slammed into Roger's head with such force that it knocked him forward. The blonde rocker pitched headfirst into a snowdrift, nearly pulling Mimi down with him. Mimi shrieked and knelt, trying to help Roger out. Unfortunately, all she managed to do was slip snow down his collar.

"What the fuck was that!" spluttered Roger, surfacing. They heard laughter and turned to see Mark, Collins, and Angel almost doubled over with hysterics, Maureen giggling and jumping in the air, and Joanne, wearing the most satisfied smirk you could imagine, brushing the remnants of the snowball off her gloves.

"Oh, good shot, Pookie!" Maureen squealed, wrapping her arms around Joanne's shoulders. Collins and Angel couldn't speak, they were laughing so hard. Mark, gasping, leaned against a tree. He managed to say a single sentence.

"I can't _believe_ I didn't get that on film!" And then Roger beaned him with a handful of snow.

And that was it. Maureen threw one at Roger, but her atrocious aim made her hit Mimi instead. Mimi shrieked and retaliated; only since she had snow in her eyes, it was Collins who got snow in the face. Angel "avenged" him, and then all was snow and laughter and bodies and glowing coldness.

When the snowballs finally stopped sailing through the air, the bohemians were in quite different positions. Collins and Angel were huddled behind a bench, using it for cover. About six feet away, Maureen was sheltering the bare branches of a small tree. Roger was crouched behind a giant snowdrift, and Mimi knelt in the cover of a three foot high ledge of stone. Joanne was in the open, panting.

"Truce!" Mark called from his perch atop the Hans Christian Anderson statue. Slowly Joanne turned to face him.

"Truce!" she called back. Mimi stood and leapt over the stone wall, making her way through the now huge piles of snow.

"I'm only giving in because I'm pretty sure I can't feel about a third of my body now," warned Mimi, shivering. At this, Roger edged out from behind his snow drift and walked towards Mimi.

"And I'm only here as a source of body heat," he declared, wrapping his arms around Mimi from behind. Joanne rolled her eyes and motioned for Mark to come down. He did so, nearly slipping and killing himself on the slick metal. Stumbling through the snow, he joined the three others.

"Collins! Angel! Do you agree to peace?" called Mimi, squinting at the bench they were behind. After a few seconds, Collins's head peeked over the top.

"Yes, but on two conditions! One, Roger buys me a huge glass of something with enough alcohol to kill me when we get to the Life." Roger rolled his eyes, but grinned and nodded.

"And two," Collins continued, "Mimi gets…wait, what was that again?" He ducked down, and they heard Angel speaking quickly. Then he reappeared.

"Two, Mimi gets Angel that skirt she's been dying for."

"Deal!" Mimi yelled. Collins stood then and, followed by Angel, walked over to the group. He was grinning, as was Angel. And then, they turned their attention to the ultimate challenge. Convince Maureen to come down from the tree.

"Honey? Come down now," Joanne said loudly, walking over to the tree and looking up at Maureen, who was seated on two large branches. Maureen, her eyes wide, drew her limbs up.

"How do I know this isn't a planned ambush? There could be soldiers everywhere!"

"Honey, there are no soldiers. This was a snowball fight. Please come down, I'm freezing!"

"Me too!"

"And me!"

"Maureen, just fucking get down before I pull a George Washington and cut that tree down!" (That one was Roger).

"Ok, ok…" Maureen reluctantly swung down and landed lightly beside Joanne.

"C'mon, Pookie, I'm starving." Joanne shrugged and smiled. That had been easier than expected. The two made their way to the others, and the seven friends walked off into the snow.


	2. Nights Like These

"We made it, praise the fucking lord!" exclaimed Collins, hurrying through the door of the Life Café (yes, they did go other places, but this place was a favorite). Angel followed close behind, with Mimi and Roger on her heels. Mark, Maureen, and Joanne brought up the rear, huffing and puffing with exertion. Finally, they were all inside.

The nice, peaceful snowfall had turned into an all-out gigantic blizzard. It had caught the bohemians completely unawares, and they were covered in snow. Not just a little sprinkling of it. Not small clumps sticking to sleeves and pant legs. I'm talking huge blocks of snow piling heavily on limbs and shoulders and heads.

"God, I'm freezing," Mimi said, shivering. Roger, brushing his hair and jacket off, nodded in agreement. Mimi shook out her hair, flinging even more snow everywhere. Maureen and Joanne were shaking out each other's coats, and Mark swatted his bag to dislodge the snow. Collins took off his beanie and shook it out. It was then that they caught sight of Angel.

The others were covered in snow. But Angel was practically buried in the stuff; her whole body had a half-inch thick layer of snow on it. Her features barely showed on her face, and it was almost impossible to see any of her clothes. She looked like some kind of mutant snowman.

"This! Fucking! Stuff! Won't! Come! Off!" Angel wailed, trying to get the snow off her limbs. Strangely, the snow seemed to be very reluctant to part with Angel; it was clinging to her body with a determination stronger than any ever exhibited by snow before. No matter what she did, it just slicked down or stuck or rubbed in deeper.

"Here, let me help, baby," Collins offered. But nothing he did worked either. Mimi tried and Maureen did too, but the snow was resisting quite well. And weirdly enough, it wasn't melting.

If Angel hadn't gotten really pissed, things might have gotten serious. Instead, she finally snapped when Mimi's fingernails couldn't make a dent in the stuff. Growling with irritation, Angel somehow did a strange little vibration thing; her entire body just shook violently for about three seconds. When she stopped, the snow had fallen off and now lay around her in clumps, like a snake shedding its skin.

"Nice," commented Mimi, watching as Angel kicked aside the piles of snow.

"That shit just doesn't give up, does it?" Angel huffed, shaking out her wig. Collins put his arm around her, and they all walked towards the tables.

"Wait! Please, please, _please_ don't come in here unless you're willing to pay, please, because we're so busy, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it before," said Roger, waving the waiter away. Bustling past, the group managed to get the last two empty tables and pull them together, much to the dismay of the manager. No one really cared though. There seriously wasn't much he could do.

"Coffee, pleeeeaaaase," moaned Maureen, snuggling up against Joanne for warmth. Mimi rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, feet propped up on the table. Collins, Angel, and Roger all sat on the opposite side of the table. Mark didn't bother with a chair. He simply climbed up and sat cross-legged on one end of the table.

"Mark, when we get our stuff you're gonna have to get your feet out of my face," Joanne said casually, adjusting herself so that Mark's knee wasn't poking into her shoulder.

"Damn, it's really coming down," said Collins, staring past Angel on his lap at the window. Turning, the others saw that the only thing visible out the window was a shifting mass of white as snow came down. Just looking at it made Maureen snuggle a little closer to Joanne.

"Ready to order?" asked a voice, and they turned again to find a boy of about seventeen standing at the end of the table, holding a notebook. After a flurried discussion, drinks (including the giant knockout that Roger had promised Collins) and some food were ordered. As the waiter left, Mimi fluffed her hair and grinned.

"Roger, baby, is your head feeling ok? I mean, after Joanne clobbered you with that snowball and everything." Roger glared at her as the others snickered, remembering the incident.

"Thanks for bringing it up, Mimi," he said sourly. Mimi, making the best puppy face she could, climbed over the table and took what should have been Mark's chair, laying her head on Roger's shoulder.

"Just making sure you were okay."

"Yeah right." But Roger couldn't be irritated with her for long, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. Maureen grinned and squeezed Joanne's arm, which encircled her waist.

"Pookie, I had no idea you had that kind of arm! What are you, an ex-pitcher for the Mets?"

"Yeah, Joanne, that was one fucking awesome throw! I mean, I'm not sure if I could have done that!" Collins said, sounding impressed. Joanne smirked, and Roger rolled his eyes. Mark mimed throwing something, then pretended to pitch forward, rocking back and forth on the table. He looked so funny and stupid that even Roger couldn't help laughing.

"If you really want to know, I used to throw a baseball around with my big brother, before he went to Yale and got to be this big state prosecutor. He always said that if every girl threw like me, the expression 'throw like a girl' would be a bigger award that MVP." Maureen squeezed Joanne's arm again, and Angel grinned at her. Roger, rubbing the back of his head, muttered, "Good for you, but that fucking hurt." Mark laughed at him, and then the bohemians settled down for a relaxing night.

Thirty minutes later, Mimi was standing on the table, demonstrating the correct form for a "truly awesome" high kick for an eager Maureen. Roger was sitting back contentedly, watching his girlfriend swing her leg almost up to her forehead and occasionally disagreeing with Mark or Joanne in the discussion they were having about Times Square and such things as went on there. Angel was alternating between complimenting Mimi, laughing at Maureen's inane questions about S&M dancing, and making out with Collins from where she sat in his lap. The manager had already come to them twice, but each time, Mimi's big eyes, Maureen's hips, and Roger's vaguely threatening air had left him sputtering and eventually walking away, shaking his head in a confused way. Everyone was warm now and the ever-falling snow outside helped make the setting even better. Nights like these, truly, was one of the perks of being bohemian at the turn of the century in NYC.


End file.
